Under Fire
by Tao-Senpai
Summary: He'd remembered the day he'd told her that Arthur had called him to war. Her soft doe like eyes filling with tears and pleading in both English and Ukrainian for him not to go.
1. Mud

Mud.

It was all that he'd seen for days, weeks, and now it was curving into months. Thick, cold, viscous mud. He'd seen people fall into it and drown, there was so much of it, it coated everything. Thick layers of it caked his boots always, smeared with the blood on his uniform, jammed the bolt on his gun.

What was worse was that they had to live in the mud. The hollowed out trenches, the walls slick from the near constant rain and the stagnant putrid water that sat under the worn deck boards that ran all through this worn hellhole.

Matthew passed his lighter to the solider beside him, hand shaking from the lack of sleep and food. He'd refused to smoke the cigarettes they'd given him, they made him feel ill, no matter how many times he'd tried to smoke one. There was a quiet exchange of pleasantries before the lighter was once again tucked into a pocket.

The sounds of battle were far away. The tata-tata of machine gun fire and rumbling growl of explosions melded in with the early spring wind. Winter's snow had just melted and unfrozen the ground, Spring's rains making the muck they'd been living in that much more treacherous.

But Matthew's mind was not in the mud and putrid trenches of war. But far away, in a small country to the north. About now her people would be painting their colourful eggs for Easter, flowers being collected and made into circlets that she'd wear in her soft moonlight coloured hair. He had never been very religious, Francis and Arthur had both tried but now that he was here he prayed that she was safe.

Grungy, once golden curls flopped back against the muddy boards of the retaining wall. He hated Arthur. It left a bitter taste in his mouth. The man had called on him, Matthew's people, his children to fight for him. And all for what? So less of Arthur's children would die. Arthur didn't give a damn about Matthew, he was cannon fodder, a colony that was to sacrifice itself for the love of their queen, for their mother country. It made tears spring to the corners of his eyes.

The Newfoundland Battalon, massacred because Arthur wanted to clear a path. Arthur had known it was a trap and sent his people in anyway. They had won, oh yes they had. But the cost had been devistating, Matthew hadn't been able to move his entire left arm for days after.

This war had caused so much pain, he was sick of it, sick and tired. He ran a dirty hand over his face, adjusting his glasses. Dim blue-violet eyes trailed over the muddy walls, a soldier across from him gave him a salute with a blue medicine bottle filled with rum or gin. The colour made him sigh, hand going to his wrist where a dark blue ribbon was tied. Calloused fingers brushed the dirty silken material, a small smile coming to his face.

He'd remembered the day he'd told her that Arthur had called him to war. Her soft doe like eyes filling with tears and pleading in both English and Ukrainian for him not to go. It had broken his heart seeing her cry like that, especially after they'd finally been able to be together again. But he'd promised, promised her that once this was over he'd go to her first. And now, sitting in this dark, stagnant, vermin infested hellhole, it was a hope he held onto dearly.

He knew many of the other men had similar ambitions to see their wives and girlfriends back in Canada. But being the embodiment of a nation was different, he wholly believed it. Closing his eyes he could see her kind sweet face, smiling at him and laughing, almost feel her gentle but strong hands on his cheeks when she wanted him to pay attention. It made him smile, forgetting where he was, instead remembering sitting in her small but comfortable living room trying to carve and paint Easter eggs. Matthew's painting looking more like a small child's craft and hers looking like a stunning masterpiece created by a master.

It hadn't been what they were doing, just being with her, laughing, getting paint all over each other and just enjoying each other's company. Dear god he missed her.

The sounds of war grew louder, the bombs falling closer and fighting growing nearer. The men around him jumped to their feet, grabbing their helmets and weapons. A shout came for the troops to rally, the Germans were trying to push into their ranks.

Matt lowered the steel helmet to shade his eyes, breath stilling in his chest as he felt his own men dying on the battlefield. The screams of the dying melded together with the hiss of gas and the ricocheting booms of explosions. Tears dripped down mud streaked cheeks as he loaded his gun and fired at the enemy. Men were dropping around him, Canadians and Englishmen alike; a shout rang out, pushing them over the top, heading straight for the heat of the battle and the thickest of the mud.

Pressing his back up against the remains of a tree Matt closed his eyes and hoped, hoped desperately that he'd live through this war to see Yekaterina's face smiling at him once again. With that thought, it was enough to keep him going as he threw himself into the heat of the battle.

* * *

NOTE:

For all those who care to know, the details on this are skewed for artistic license. I really don't care that it's not 100% historically correct. Lighters instead of Matches, who the hell cares, the point got across. It's a fanfic, enjoy it for what it's worth and the emotional quality of the characters. For the anonymous reviewer I am a Canadian and a Newfoundlander. I know the details on that aspect of history but because most people in the general public do not. Therein, the battle a Beaumont Hamel could be included because Newfoundland did become a part of Canada (eventually). Trenches were not used in WWII, WWII modernized warfare away from trenches and running at one another with guns over minimal amounts of ground. Canada has as much to be ashamed about with WWII internment camps as the Germans did in their country. But this is WWI, not WWII. Please sign your reviews and don't critique me on bursts of fanfiction that I wrote just because it brought me a moment of joy. Thanks.


	2. SKies of Silver, Stars of gold

The old military car bumped along the well worn dirt road. It was odd to see any kind of car or motorized vehicle this far into the countryside and it drew stares from many of the farmers that passed in oxen drawn carts or on horseback.

It had been hard, the lands of Ukraine were scarred and the people still had a frantic look. They had had their own war between the Russians and the Austrians during the World War, but finally it was safe enough to return and see the one woman who had kept him going in the trenches.

Matthew sat in the back of the car, his arm in a sling. He'd been wounded four times throughout the war, but being a nation it always healed quickly. He wasn't elegible to leave a war zone no matter how badly he'd been wounded. But what the real damage for him was the loss of his people. Men that had drowned in the thick mud, killed on the battlefield, in the air and the sea, or just gone missing in the heat of battle. Those wounds were still raw on his body, ached or burned, and his arm still wounded from the massacre at Beaumont Hamel. But his attention was far away from himself, fixated on the countryside rolling past him.

Winter was almost upon Ukraine, the farmers getting the last of their hard earned crops put away before the first hard frost of the year took hold. The trees given up their leaves, and a biting wind blowing down from the great northern Russia.

The driver took a fork in the road and Mathew winced when a rut jarred his arm against the seat. There was a murmured apology from the driver in Ukrainian. Matthew didn't understand him but the man seemed to understand English just fine and had agreed to take the wounded soldier far out of the city to the almost forgotten village far out in the farmland.

The small village soon came into view. Thatched roofs and wooden fences protecting the wooden homes and keeping the livestock out of the gardens and flowerbeds. The homes were spread out with large plots of land and barns tucked away behind the houses. It was the essence of picturesque medieval village.

The car drew tons of attention, people sticking their heads out of their homes as it rattled by, a few children even dropping their baskets and chasing after the car wondering who the obviously important people were in their tiny little village.

Matthew smiled and glanced at the driver who smiled back at him in the rear view mirror. The village pulled past as the car headed up a small hill to another house. It was set aside from the rest but just as simple. But to Matthew it was greater than the Palace of Versaille. The driver parked the car and came around, opening the door for Matthew. The Canadian thanked him and gave him a tip. The man merely smiled and gave him a bow before getting Matt's things from the trunk. It wasn't much, just a simple duffle bag and a suitcase that were carried to the front door.

Matt gave the man a wave as the car pulled away from the front gate of the property, bumping its way back down the road and out of sight around a bend. Looking at the front door Matthew ignored it, heading for the back gate. It took him a moment with only one arm but he managed the latch and stepped into the farmyard.

A goose honked at him and ducked into the old barn as Matt looked around. He knew she was here, Yekaterina barely left her farm in this time with so much work to be done. But it was a soft melody that caught his attention. A very familiar melody that he'd heard her sing many, many times. Soft and delicate but enchanting when she sung it in her soft voice; listening to the notes vanish away like a wisp of fog in the wind.

He followed the voice, moving through another gate to where she'd obviously set up her things to do laundry. Brightly coloured quilts flapped in the strong autumn breeze as he finally saw her. It struck him how much he'd missed her in the years the war had taken away from them. Even in her oversized overalls and muddy boots she was gorgeous in his eyes.

He moved around the laundry, watching her reach and pin up another corner of her shirt to keep it from flying off the line.

"Do you need help at all Kat?" he asked softly with a small smile. Wide doe eyes, blue as the skies above the Praries in Canada stared at him over her shoulder.

"Matvey?" her voice was quiet, unsure, like he was a ghost. "Matvey!" Tears shone in her eyes as she dropped the basket of clothespins and ran to him. Warm arms wrapped around his waist as his one good arm wrapped tightly around her shoulders. Sobs shook her frame as she clung to him. She'd been so worried, hearing all the horrid things that had been going on in the east. But he was safe and alive, she knew he would, but she'd still worried.

"It's alright Kat, I'm not going anywhere and I'm fine" he said softly pressing a kiss to her soft hair. It worried him, he could feel that she was thinner than he remembered and could tell she was tired in just the way she was clinging to him. The war had been hard on the both of them.

"I-I know.. just... w-worried okie?" she hiccoughed and buried her face in the soft wool of his soldiers uniform. It was such a relief having him there, knowing he was planning on staying for a while.

"I know" he rubbed her back and rested his cheek on her soft hair. It was over, the war was over, so was having to stay apart from Kat. The horrors of that war were over and he'd talked with his leaders on the idea of separating from England. A gasp startled him out of his thoughts as Kat touched his arm in the sling.

"Matvey, what happened?" she asked, her gentle eyes glassy with unshed tears. She touched and looked at his arm, finding no obvious serious wound on him easily.

"England sent my troops into an ambush... it was a massacre and my arm hasn't worked properly since." he admitted, knowing she'd get more upset if he lied and said he was fine.

Kat shook her head and gave a sigh, tracing her fingers over the lapels of his uniform and the medals that were affixed there. She said nothing about them. Neither of them ever did. Medals didn't mean much to the two of them. To some countries they were the utmost of importance. But to them there were merely a reminder of the death and suffering that was brought along with war.

Matt looked at the grey soapy water and put an arm around Kat, pulling her close and pressing a soft kiss to her warm lips. The same gentle and strong hands, smelling of soap brushed his cheeks. It was all so familiar, so welcome, and so missed after the horror of the trenches. But after a moment he pulled back to kiss her forehead and her nose.

It elected a giggle from Kat and brought another warm hug, a bright sweet smile on her round face. It made Matt's heart soar, feeling better than he had in what seemed forever. His arm tightened around her shoulders as he moved, leading her into her house.

Both were quiet but no words needed to be said. As Matt smiled down at Kat he realized that this was what he'd wanted. Not going back to Canada but to Yekaterina, to his home, which he'd found not in place but in a person. The beautiful Ukrainian that he'd go miles for and fight a war for just so see her smile.

"Come inside Matvey, you get sick in cold wind." she smiled at him and lead him inside. Yes, this was exactly what he'd fought for, to come home. To the warm fire, a safe home, good food. To his wonderful, gorgeous Yekaterina.


End file.
